
DAUGHTER 

Charlotte Temple. 

* 


THE 


LIFE 


OF 








THE HISTORY 


OF 

LUCY TEMPLE, . 

DAUGHTER OF 


CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 


AN ACCOUNT 


HER PATHETIC YOUNG LIFE’S TRIALS, HER LOVE 
AND ITS CONSEQUENCES 

NOW FOB THE FIRST TIME PUBLISHED 

FROM THE 

ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT BIOGRAPHY 



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PHILADELPHIA: 

BARCLAY & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
No. 21 North Seventh Street. 

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Entered swsertSing to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by 

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La. the Office of the Jjibrariari of Oopf^gs, : a,t .Washington, D. Q. 


oraiiaLrairi a wit Taaiu airr aou wok ~ 

Miitf uonn 

YH<IAaOOia T1IH33UMAM JAHIOIHO 





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/toilhnw ion non >1 one*, on ot .nnoJ^ hue ssfMj/Imb oil) ojm jjjo > s'uvj 

HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE, 

THE UNFORTUNATE 

.DAUGHTER OF CHARLOTTE TEMPLE. 


Am Accosmt of her Life and Misfortunes, Collated and Abridged from the Original 
Manuscript Biography. 


CHAPTER I. 


INTRODUCTION. 

'VERY one, nearly, has read the life of Charlotte Temple, that most 
unfortunate of women. It i$ our task to write the history of her 
daughter Lucy. 

In the street com missioned office there is an old “ plan of the 
city of New York,” surveyed in 1767, by Bernard Ratzer, lieu- 
tenant in the Sixtieth British Regiment. On that map the present Division 
street is laid down as a rope-walk ; and where it joined the Bowery lane, 
between Division and Henry streets, there are represented the- gqrdei^walks 
and homestead of a flourishing farm, with a large orchard, stretching away 
towards the east. Immediately opposite to. the homestead, on the west side 
pf Bowery lane, is portrayed an irregular building, apparently of some pre- 
tensions. Here lived, before the Revolution, an angel of peace and mercy, 
who has come down in history, only, as Mrs. Beauchamp. Hard by, in 
the rear of this irregular building, is laid down the plan of another of 
humbler pretensions', and seemingly a plain farm house. The premises 
closely adjoin, and both of jthem occupy the small block now bounded by 
Pell and Dryer streets. A portion of the latter house still remains near its 
original position, and is now called the “ Old Tree House,” on the corner 
of Pell street. 

In the year 1774 this locality was still a rural neighborhood. On a cold 
and snowy evening in' the fall of that year there came out from the farm 
house last mentioned a young and tender woman, only a short year 
previous the flower of a happy home in Old England, but now soiled, and 

19 


20 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


crushed, and blighted, a homeless, wretched wanderer, driven by hard 
hearts out into the darkness and storm, to go she knew not whither. 

Over the history and fate of that poor wanderer, how many sorrowing 
tears have fallen on every old-fashioned hearthstone of our own fair land l 
Yes, they were sorrowful, yet true and blessed tears, for they were the 
pure and charitable and sisterly tributes of our mothers of old. Good souls l 
they were the worried of ninety yCafs ago. Ah, me ! are there tears yet in 
woman’s heart, for any such erring homeless wanderers of to-day ? 

If our silver-haired mothers could once more read that page, they would 
tell us that the heroine was that Charlotte Temple whom Montroville had 
lured from her happy home, and that Madame Crayton was the former 
heartless gc^CrneSs, L£ Rtte, who had aided the equally heartless Montro- 
ville in the ruin which he had wrought. They would narrate the death- 
scene of a few days subsequent, and the heartfelt sympathy of Mrs. Beau r 
champ, which smoothed the dying pillow of the wanderer, and they would 
then lead us to Trinity church-yard to witness the last scene of all — the 
burial of the victim, and the remorse of Montroville. 

In that humble grave, under the shadow of Trinity spire, let us leave 
Charlotte Temple to her rest, while we follow the events of after yea^s, and 
trace the career of the beautfM Offspring of th& unhallowed alliance. 

Charlotte’s destroyer, Montroville, as we have seen, had married duli^ 
Frdftklhi, the belle df New Ytk-k, and the daughter of that wealthy 
rfiOtchaut aftCY whom FrankfttV square Was named. He remained here with 
his regiment during the Revolution, and returned to England at the evacua- 
tion Of the city, f6 receive the thanks bf royalty for his Services, and to dash 
irito the world of splendor Uiid gayety. He had been promoted to the rank 
of colonel of artillery, and had readily Complied with the Wish of a rich 
relative of his American Wife to change his fatftfly name to that of Frank- 
lin. When the eldest son of this marriage had arrived at manhood, he 
had been commissioned a -lieutenant in His Majesty’s army. 

After the death of Charlotte, Mr. Temple, her father, returned to England 
with the hapless offspring she had left. All old-fashioned people who are 
conversant with Mrs. Rowson’s simple narrative of these events will re- 
member that Captain Blakeney was* the early friend of Charlotte’s parents 
and of herself. The historian of her daughter, Lucy Blakeney, has before 
him at this writing the “ Royal Kalendar,” in which his name is thus re- 
corded : “ Grice Blakeney — Lt. Colonel — 14th Dragoons — ; commissioned 
Nov. 17j 1780.” 

After the war, he also returned to England, and continued to the child 
Lucy the friendship which he had borne to her grandparents and to her 
unfortunate mother. At his death he left to Lucy the whole of his prop- 
erty, amounting to over $100,000. But this he bequeathed to his little 
favorite on condition that she took the name and arms of Blakeney. 

About two years after his bequest, Lucy became indeed an orphan, by 


HOUST.0&Y OF LU€Y TEWdUJS. * 


21 


dea&h of both her grandparents, and by their wish was left to .the future 
We of the Rev. Mr. Mathews, the incumbent of a quiet rural rectory. 
Under the fostering care of her kind guardian, Lucy gretw up into 
Womanhood a lovely being blest with her mother’s entrancing beauty, and 
amiability and purity of disposition reflecting great credit on the 
teachings of Mr. Mathews. 


CHAPTER II. 


•? 


GUARDIAN AND WARD. 

XT Thursday week is your birthday, my dear child, ” said Rev. 
Mr. Mathews to his ward one June morning at the breakfast table. 

“ Yes, kindest of guardians, I shall be nineteen years of age. 
Almost a woman; ” replied Lucy, lifting to his a face beautiful and 
pure as an angel’s. 

“Dear me,” continued the good man, lapsing into a dreamy state of 
retrospect. “ It seems but yesterday that your grandmother called me to 
her bedside and, with the death dew dampening her pallid cheek, placed in 
my charge her little granddaughter, with a solemn injunction to train her 
in a God-fearing way and ever watch with jealous eye her welfare. You 
were a little girl then. Now, as you say, you are almost a woman. Nay, 
quite, in thought and purpose. You have been a very good child, and our. 
companionship has been marked by mutual love; Your young life has 
passed very quietly, very soberly. I was reflecting over the incidents of 
the past this day, and I have determined to allow you to celebrate the anni- 
versary of your birth in a manner becoming your age and station. It is 
high trove you had other companions than a didactic old clergyman, who 
years ago relinquished all pleasures of the physical life for the diviner joys 
f 'i 1 '"’ toil to terli dngrioffo I Icmrl) t oi9ilT ^ 

“ Nay, dear sir,” rejoined Lucy, speaking with evident truth and feeling, 
“say not so. I should ever be content to remain as T am. I crave no 
other pleasures than the society of my dear guardian, and care riot for 
friends but you, my kindest mentor.” 

“Tut, tut! Would you become a nun, see nothing of the world* of 
society, of the opposite sex? I shall begin to believe, if you persist hi 
your determination not iso go among the world’s people, that so many years/ 
companionship with me has aged the buoyancy of your spirit, chilled the 
warm energy mid brock* 9'.i uhmo to gnivol ban If/liJimod 

“ Would you then have me break asunder this tie which ’.ns become so 
dear, and in the whirling vortex of fashionable dissipation, learn to hate the 



22 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


life so fruitful of purity of thought and action, despise the teachings you 
have so. patiently striven to inculcate in my mind ? ” asked Lucy, her lip> 
trembling and her blue eyes moistening with tears of reproachful sadness. 

“iNo^-no ! You misconstrue me. I would have you rather avoid a life 
so hollow dnd vain, so full of deceits and hypocrisies, so replete with shame 
and sadness, misery and remorse. There are other pleasures, my dear child, 
than those burdensome obligations imposed upon the votaries of fashion. 
Pure and innocent recreations, which.axe. healthful stimulants to the growth 
of character and disposition. I would indeed rather have you become a 
nun than lose that sweetness of temper, that purity of thought, that gentle- 4 
ness of disposition, so prominently ’characteristic of your life, in a giddy, 
whirling round of dissipation and perhaps folly.” 

“Then, dear guardian, allow me- always to; remain near you. I seek no 
other pleasure, crave no better companion.” ^ 

“ True, Lucy, true. You always shall be near me, or until such time as 
our Maker sees fit to separate us. But it is nevertheless my duty to you, 
and in obedience to the commands of your grandparents, that now, having 
reached mature age, I allow you to see more of the world than has hereto- 
fore been your portion.” 

“As you will, sir,” acknowledged Lucy. “I know that whatever you 
may advise is for the best.” 

“I have been thinking,” now that he had won her over to an acquies- 
cence in his plans for her future, obseryed the clergyman, “that a proper 
way to effect your introduction to society, and at the same time allow me to 
pay laudable tribute to your goodness and love and obedience, would be to 
celebrate your nineteenth birthday in a social gathering of such suitable 
companions as my knowledge of the world would induce me to recommend 
as fit associates for you.” 

“A real party, with dancing and music and flowers and a collation ! ” 
cried the young girl, coming from behind her former barrier of reserve. 

“ Oh ! , my kind guardian, you are ever thinking how to increase my 
enjoyments.” , 

“ There, there ! I thought that a little kindly persuasion would incline 
you to participate in the rational enjoyments of life,” said the old clergy- 
man. “A kiss from those pure lips and the sight of you happy is sufficient 
payment for all the trouble I take to please you.” I , 

“You shall have the first now, and at the party, you shall see that the 
last wifeli is gratified,” said Lucy* .rising from the. table and coming over to 
the clergyman’s chair. He put up: his hands and drawing her young face 
down to his, kissed again and again the fair cheek as yet, untinted with the 
scarlet flush pfi r shame, i. thinking meanwhile that never had been so 
beautiful and loving a creature about him as Lucy Blakeney. 

■ nn )ed e.'i * doiilw eit aidi lobnmus jlcwd om ovxnl nodi no ( blnoY/ ** 
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She listened to the eloquent pleadings of his v0ice.--Pa.7e 38. 
©ie lauj^tc auf belt tin&ringlK&eu fllaug feincr ©timme. — ©cite 38. 



HISTORY OF LUG Y TKMFLB. 


CHAPTER III. 

f 


THE YOUNG DRAGQONER. 

the vicinity of the rectory was at this time encamped a body of 
dragoons. The soldiery gave a life and bustle to the plodding 
little village in which Lucy had grown up to womanhood, quite 
the reverse of its ordinary character. Parties and balls — befbre 
the qd vent of the dragoons almost unknown — were now of frequent 
occurrence, and the gay uniforms of the troops were always welcome guests 
at whatsoever house they chose to visit. 

It was generally conceded in the mess-room that the most dashing of 
their company was Lieutenant Franklin, at the time our story opens in his 
twenty-third year. He was very reckless and wild, and drank and gamed 
and flirted, and never seemed to tire or sate of dissipation. This would 
seem to* unfit him for the duties and responsibilities of a soldier. On the 
contrary, a call to duty found him fresh and clear-headed. His tastes were 
epicurean in all his debaucheries, and it was a common subject of remark 
among his comrades that, “ drunk or sober, Franklin was a gentleman.”' 

Since his command had been stationed in this part of the country, having 
little active duty to engage his attention, Lieutenant Franklin had gone to 
excess more than once in the gratification of his animal pleasures. He had 
won and lost heavily at the gaming table, gone back to the barracks in a 
state of hilarious intoxication sev$j$I times after a night’s debauch at the 
table of some wealthy gentleman in the neighborhood, and his conquests 
and amours with the fair sex were innumerable. Being of good family, 
these failings were overlooked or condoned, and new temptations were every 
day thrown in his path. He received invitations to every social gathering 
for mileS around, was always in demand to complete a party at piquet or 
Whist, and f6nd mothers and proud fathers still considered him an agreeable 
and safe companion for their pure daughters. 

“ Do you attend the birthday party to be given at the rectory in honor 
of the charming Miss Blakeney, Franklin ?” asked his friend Cputepser-a 
character who, in the gratification of his tastes, sought to emulate the 
former — one night in the mess-room a short time after the conversation 
between Lucy and her guardian narrated in the preceding chapter. 

“ Most assuredly I do,” replied Franklin; “ not for the world would | 
miss the opportunity of making the acquaintance pf this myst^rioqs beauty, 
who out of some prudish notion has seen fit to hide the light of her IqypU- 
r hess in that gloomy old rectory.” 

' ^Another conquest meditated, TO wager,” laughingly );#iiifid Qonteu^e. 
r ,>ry ^Tt : i.s rUrtibted that/ tile fair Lucy is- as .reserved, •* uofhvit 



HISTORY OF IiUW TEMPLE. 




she is beautiful,” continued Franklin, without seeming to notice the impli- 
cation of his friend. . 

“Accomplished, and as decpjy learned in the abstruse sciences as a Plato, 
should be added to her personal charms,” said Contense. 

Franklin mused in silence for several moments, and, as if in continuation 
of his thoughts, said, “It would indeed redound } to my credit to conquer 
tips cold beauty and, make hei\ wholly mine.” Then, in a tone of conscious 
ability to win her heart if he tried, added, “ It shall .be done, by Jovel It 
is : long since I set after game so fresh and shy. The pursuit will be tenfold 
more exciting than that of ordinary women, and if she is as pure as Dame 
Gossip would have us believe, a little harmless flirtation would not injure 
her. I can do no more than try my hand. Do you go to the ball at Sir 
Leicester Dornton’s to-night, Contense?” 

“I was not fortunate enough to secure an invitation,” replied Contense. 
“ I understand it is to be something grand.” 

j “For the country, yes,” replied Franklin. “Sorry we are not to have 
the pleasure of your company to-night. Fm off. But first a stirrup-cup. 
Well drink health to the fair Lucy,” and jumping to his feet, he stepped 
across the room to a heavy oaken sideboard, filled two glasses with rum, 
and in their clink these two men pledged — ah ! shame — degradation — 
Buffering — ruin — to the fair girl who had been the subject of conversation. 


CHAPTER IY. 


THE BIRTHDAY PARTY. 


^HE night of Lucy’s birthday party finally arrived. At an early 
hour the guests began to assemble. Although she had seen little 
or nothing of society, her natural refinement, after the first em- 
barrassment wore off, enabled the beautiful hostess to receive her 
guests with the dignity and polished self-possession of a dowager. 

She was the centre of an admiring knot of gentlemen, listening to their 
suave conventional compliments with a gentle inclination of her head to this 
and that one, when her guardian approached her arm-in-arm with a 
gentleman in the uniform of a lieutenant of dragoons. Gaining the side 
of his ward, the clergyman called her attention to his companion. 

» ' “Lucy, my dear, allow me to present to you Lieutenant Franklin, of the 
Dragoons.” 

Even in the seclusion of her quiet home Lucy had heard the name of the 
lieutenant mentioned frequently, coupled with encomiums of his grace and 
manly beauty, bravery and valor. It was with no uncommon interest, 


i 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPI,®! 27 

then, 'that she acknowledged the presentation, and turning, to her new 
acquaintance with easy refinement entered into conversation with him, 

“ It affords me infinite pleasure to make the acquaintance of a lady of 
whose beauty and intelligence I have heard so much,” said the lieutenant, 
placing his hand to his heart and bending low. ,q 

“ I am afraid I shall not come up to your expectations, sir,” said Lucy, 
inwardly pleased with the address of the man before her. 

“ On the contrary, the beauty of Miss Blakeney has taken me by surprise, - 
and if I appear confused or embarrassed in her presence, it can be properly 
attributed to the dazzle of her loveliness.” I 

“ Y r ou flatter equal to a king’s courtier,” retorted Lucy. ' * d Limoni 

“ I would stand clear before a jury on that charge when applied to you, 
no matter how enthusiastic my description.” 

Unaccustomed to such fulsome praise from the opposite sex, Lucy hardly 
knew what reply to make, and to hide her confusion she took the lieutenant’s 
proffered arm and together they strolled iqb and down the room. She was 
evidently pleased with the attention of her brilliant cavalier, and he, like 
the giddy moth, could not resist the temptation to hover about the beauiifql 
flame. Hers was a new character to him, and in the study of the complex 
emotions of her mind he was more and more amazed as some new beauty 
was revealed to h i m . ’ Lai? J \ 

In the course of the evening he chanced to pass near his friend Contense, 
and the latter whispered in his ear, “ Which will make the conquest, 
Franklin? I’ll wager five pounds, the game turns, upon the hunter.” 

“ She is the purest and best girl I have ever met,” replied Franklin, a 
hot flush mantling his cheek at the sally of his friend. t 

“ I swear you are in love,” said Contense, laughing. 

“ Perhaps ! ” was the parting rejoinder of the lieutenant, as, catching the 
eye of Lucy, he left his friend and hastened to her side. 

All the evening he was in constant attendance upon her, and was the last 
of the guests to present his adieus. 

Instead of joining his companions in the mess-room, to spend the re- 
mainder of the night at gaming, as was his wont, he hastened immediately 
to his quarters. Seating himself by the open window, his mind awed and 
impressed by the hushed composure of the night, he gave himself up to 
ecstatic dreams of the beautiful creature who had that evening so enraptured 
him. ■ yVifo n I wins 

“ Why not ? ” he exclaimed at length, striking the window-ledge with his 
clenched hand. “ Why not ? I am certainly going to the^ devil^ and no 
time for reform is better than the present. It is true I am my fatHerfs heir, 
but he has done so much for me that it would be base ingratitude if Idid 
nothing for myself. She is certainly the most beautiful woman X ever met, 
and she is as good as she is handsome. My father could offer no reasonable 
objection to her as a wife for me. I understand she has some considerable - 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


2 & 

property too, and could bring me a large dower. I will ! I will ! ” he 
cried more vehemently. “ For the first time in my life I will address 
this woman with honorable intentions.” 

Ho threw himself on the bed after making this resolve, and soon fell 
asleep, to enjoy in dreamland the companionship of the beautiful girl he 
had that evening enjoyed in reality. 

Permission had been granted him by Lucy to call upon her at the rectory 
the next day* and this permission was cordially seconded by the invitation 
of Mr. Mathews. He fumed and fretted away the whole morning, praying 
for the lagging hours to hasten on, and as soon as courtesy would permit he 
mounted his horse and hastened to the rectory. 


CHAPTER V. 

AT THE RECTORY. 

§ <HCY received the lieutenant with a smile of welcome. Modesty 
forbade her to be in his company alone, and he was a little piqued 
to find the old rector in the room. He concealed his chagrin as 
best ho might* however, and entered gayly into a conversation with 
the two over the events of the night previous. He had come 
determined to broach the subject of his attachment if opportunity offered 
itself; but in vain ; the clergyman was constantly with them, and lie could 
only speak his love in mute glances of unooncealed admiration. These 
love-looks were returned, though shyly, and the blush of pleasure which 
stri?uaexl iher cheek awakened in his bosom pleasant thoughts. He was vain 
enough to believe that his passion was returned, and the same vanity led 
him to wish to converse with her privily. 

Tea being announced, he led Lucy to the table, and from all the while 
endeavoring to form some plan how he could best see her alone, made but 
feeW# attempts at conversation. 

Hawing the management of her guardian’s household affairs, Lucy 
excused herself at the completion of the meal; and returning to the drawing- 
room with the clergyman, who speedily became deeply engrossed in the 
perusal of a theological work, Franklin was left to his own devices. 

Awave that his stay could be prolonged but for a short time, he tore a 
leaf ifrom his note-book and hastily scribbled a brief note declaring his 
undying love and constancy, and begging for an interview the next evening 
in the ittotory garden, where he ooutfd more eloquently teH the passion he 
&elily portrayed. He kept the note in his hand; and after Lucy 
retoKued to the^dltawing-room lingered but a short time, using Ids duty as a 
aoidfor aaan excuse for ha-abrupt departure. The kindly old rector pressed 


HISTORY OF LUCY TfiMtl/F. 


& 

him to call again, and, after assuring him that he was always Welcome, Litcy 
accompanied him to the door, and just as he was leaving he slipped iiitb’h^f 
hand the note he had written. Before she could express herself as to the 
strangeness of the action he was gone, waving her an adieu from the saddle 
as he dashed down the avenue leading to the rectory gate. 

Various were the sensations which agitated the mind of Lucy as she still 
stood in the doorway watching the fast disappearing form of Franklin as 
he cantered along the road toward the barracks. His letter she held yet in 
her hand. What did it all mean? she thought. Her eyes fell on the love 
missive, and she turned it over several times, while a gentle suffusion of " 
vernlilion tinged her neck and face. She regarded it intently for some 
time. It was without superscription and sealed with a single wafer. The 
voice of Mr. Mathews calling from his study brought her back to 
consciousness. 

Hastily thrusting the letter into her pocket, she closed the door and 
sought her guardian. He looked up smiling as she entered, and said : 

^Bit down by me, my dear child, ” at the same time motioning her to' 
a low divan by the side of his chair. 

She took the proffered seat, but her eyes were not lifted to the good Old 
man’s face in their accustomed innocence and frankness. They dropped to 
the floor, and for the first time in her life a guilty blush mantled her cheek, 
and that inward mentor, whose workings are so mysterious, but whose 
power we all acknowledge, cried softly, “ You are doing wrong. Show him 
the letter.” She was on the point of obeying the call, and did draw the 
letter partly from her pocket. 

“ The lieutenant seems to be deeply impressed with the beauty and good- 
ness of my child,” said the clergyman, patting her cheek. 

Her fingers relaxed their hold upon the letter and it slipped back into her 
pocket. 

“ He is a very agreeable man, dear teacher, and the evening passed 
very pleasantly. Think you not so?” said Lucy, and again her face 
crimsoned. 

“ He certainly has the faculty of entertaining his hearers. You seemed 
to be particularly pleased with his conversation.” And again he patted the 
fair girl’s cheek. 

Lucy made no reply, but bended her head still lower. Mr. Mathews 
noticed her confusion and, attributing it to her extreme modesty, changed 
the subject. 

All the evening that clandestine message burned in her pocket. Several 
times she was on the point of doing what conscience told her was duty, and 
hand the unopened missive to her guardian, and ask his advice as to whether 
it should be answered or returned. Just so often did she make the resolve, 
just so often did the tempter influence her to let it remain her pocket. 

“Well, darling, it is late. Time we retired for the night,” said the 


30 HISTORY OP LUCY TEMPLE, 

clergyman^ length. “ Bring me God’s book, whilst I read the lesson of 
the day.” 

She brought the desired volume, and after reading a chapter the old 
rector fell upon his knees,, and with bowed head offered up a simple petition 
to the throne of mercy. 

“ Gopd-night, my dear child,” he said, kissing her as she arose from her 
knees. “God bless you.” 

A moment of indecision, and then, taking the letter from her pocket, she 
said, as Mr. Mathews was about leaving the room, “ Sir, I have — would 
like to solicit your advice. Lieutenant Franklin placed — 

“ Yes, yes, Lucy,” he interrupted, halting on the threshold, “I know, 
but we will talk about that to-morrow.” 

“ But — ” she began. 

“ To-morrow. I am very tired,” he said, and again bidding her good- 
night, closed the door and was gone. 

Oh ! rash girl. Hesitate not, or you are lost. Hasten, while you have 
yet time, and place in the hands of your kind friend that which you feel is 
wrong for you to possess. Pure as yet, its influence may defile you. But 
no ! she hesitates. And with the secret still hers seeks her room. 


CHAPTER YL 

A CLANDESTINE MEETING. 

RRIVED in her own chamber, Lucy drew the letter from her 
pocket. “ Surely,” she thought, “ if my guardian, who is so noted 
for his uprightness, and morality, thinks well of Franklin, I can 
see no reason why I should be harmed by reading his letter. I can 
consult him afterward as to whether it would be best to answer 
the letter or not ; at any rate I shall not answer it without consulting him ; ” 
and she accordingly opened the letter. 

“A very proper letter it seems to me,” she said, after finishing the reading. 
“It would hardly Jbe right to meet him clandestinely, for if he speaks truth 
his intentions are honorable. My guardian thinks well of him, and if he is 
so desirous' of seeing me he shall come openly. I will notact dishonorably, 
and to meet him at night and alone, without the knowledge of my kind 
friend, would, I think, be wrong.” 

Thus counselling herself she prepared for bed and was soon fast asleep. 
Her slumbers were disturbed by visions of Franklin and she awoke in a 
frame of mind diametrically the opposite of the night before. She neglected 
to broach the subject uppermost in her mind to Mr. Mathews, and he, 






The mysterious and elegant lady in black, who used to visit Charlotte Temple’s 
grave every day, and place rare flowers upon it. 

©ie geljeimnijtoone unb efeflnutc ©ante in ^ratter, inelcbe tiijjiidj Charlotte Semple'S ©rabja 
befuqjen pfletfle unb feltene ©lumen barauf leijte. 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


g^rhaps, had forgotten the conversation of the night previous. Several 
times in the course of the day she indulged herself i$ reading over the 
letter, and each time she rpad it the contents sank deeper into her heart. 

The appointed hour arrived, and throwing around her shoulders a light 
shawl, Lucy pleaded a desire to enjoy the evening breeze, as an excuse to 
gam ths gatf den, oufsidp tf^j door; she timidly aud s with beating 

heart sough^p jj^^^igi^t^n. > 

“ I shall tell him that he must see me no more unless he visits me in $j 
proper pypnppj; she resolved, and as she approached the spot 

designated in Fr&nkhnfsnote, sire began to be conscious of the impropriety 
of her conduct in having clandestine intercourse [ with one almost a stranger 

to he^*it mo *lo gnirnoo oil) onnortaqim flliw ih ‘.v/e 1 .nodi Jlo wo? 

Alas ! poor Lucy ! So thought her unhappy mother years before when 
she disobeyed the, promptings of her conscience and inf open defiance of the 
lessons of propriety, learned at the knee of her mother, met the villain Mon- 
troville in secresy and at night. .viotoo? odl 

Like his guilty father Franklin was tender, eloquent and ardent. He 
ailenced all her objections, dissipated all her~scruples. 

“ Darling, ” he said, twining his arm about her slender waist, “the 
knowledge that my love is reciprocated lends new charm to a life that has 

° J (: 'a 'f '■ j A ' \ 

before been miserable and worthless/* 

“ I wish I dared believe you speak truth,” answered Lucy, meditatively. 

“ Can you doubt me?^ % 0QL • 31 U J 

“ I do no£ know whpt to think,. It is a new expedience to me. Let me 
hive time and I can answer you.” 

“Cruel girl! Would you render me tenfold more reckless than I have 
been heretofore by thus hinting at the possibility of my love not being 
reciprocated?” • . : « , r 

“Do. not speak thus, franklin,” said Lucy, drawing closer. “If my 
influence oan.-sp model apd shape your life hahits, I would assuredly simu- 
late an affecjtipr}, I did pot feel, rather than see you go to destruction.” 

“ But you, opt feel towarejsi me thus coldly ? ” said Franklin. 

“ No! ” depfied jthe lovely girl, and this frank confession of her love 
caused thp warm blood to course through her lover’s veins with a new and 
impetuous energy. 

“ Y qu will meet . me often ?■” he asked, bending oyer her eagerly. 
“ Promise me that at this hour to-morrow evening you will again meet me 

IjiSj&noil arnttNut Bwol wfc Jr.rini- raw d o* bsmUnm n fto to'ik* 

«,I dare not” said firmly. :;i , - )o r„ if,.; • ,, 

“ You do not love me,” cried Franklin, starting from her. 

“ Yes ! I think — no— but Jit will bp wrong, to- mpot you clandestinely. 
It would create scandal were we discovered, and I am certain it would noi 
please my guardian.” 


'fli ibiv 


.neilyf 


r f<*d ol own 


a*- h¥s nmw d&'-ttj&t SIMPLE. 

“These ate idle fancies;” cried Ftenklin, impatiently. “ My love fbt' ? 
Would dare even the terrors of Hades.” 11 K ‘ )t(l ' is 

“ Oh ! Franklin,” said Lucy, in a tremulous voice, “ you must hbt' 
speak thus, for I do love you truly.” 

“You will come then to-morrow?” 

“ I do not know. We have been too long together now. I must return 
to the house,” said Lucy, struggling to draw her hands from him. “ I must > 
leave you.” f 

“And to-morrow I shall look for you. Do not, I conjure you, doom me 
to a disappointment so cruel. You will come, dear Lucy?” 

“ Perhaps,” faltered her lips. 

“ Farewell, then. I await with impatience the coming of our trystinjg 
hour.” 

He bent over and kissed her hand, and vaulting the boundary wall 
disappeared in the gloom, while Lucy with glad and buoyant steps sought 
the rectory. 


CHAPTER VII. 


CONTINUED WRONG-DOING. 

MOST two weeks elapsed, and Franklin, not content with daily 
visits to Lucy at the rectory, where his evidently honorable inten- 
tions met with the approval and sanction of Mr. Mathews, continued 
every evening to meet her clandestinely iii the rectory garden. 

It may safely be asserted, in justice to Franklin, that his inten- 
tions were honorable. He was his father’s oldest son and heir, and entered 
the army rather from choice than necessity. His sire had deeply impressed 
upon his mind the necessity of allying himself to a woman his equal in 
social position and wealth. He therefore took pains to inquire what were 
Miss Blakeney’s expectations as regarded fortune, and had been informed 
bjy a creditable authority that she was the possessor of a handsome 
maintenance. 

“ My father, then,” he thought, “ will be pleased with my choice of a 

I 

Lucy often confessed to herself that she loved the handsome lieutenant; 
with all the strength and ardor of her nature, and never seemed happy but 
when in his company. 

* Contriiu^d indulgence in wrong-doing ultimately hardens the heart to the 
i&fMsnftVPdf 6ur better nature. Lricy, in the mad delirium of her young 
love, silenced all qualms of conscience she might at first have had at meeting 
her lover unbeknown to her guardian. She often pleased herself with the 



HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 

fancy that he, too, was prejudiced in Franklin’s favor and encouraged hjs: 
attentions to her. The pious old clergyman was present at every interview ■ 
between the* two at the rectory, and saw nothing but respectful, friendly 
admiration of each other’s society in the conduct of the two. And in their 
associations under the friendly cover of night Lucy constantly shielded i 
herself behind an insurmountable barrier of maidenly reserve, difficult to 
be overcome, and Franklin, appreciating the purity of her thoughts and 
actions, treated her ever with respect and deference. 

He had confided to Gon tense the fact of these stolen interviews, and 
when the latter, knowing Franklin’s previous trifling with female virtue, 
banteringly alluded to the conquest ofithis fair one, he silenced him angrily, 
“ Stop ! If you are my friend, speak not lightly of Lucy Blakeney. She 
is to-day as pure as the breath of heaven.” 

“Oh! ho!” rejoined Contense, “ I had no idea matters had takeu>«6 
serious a turn. My ignorance must palliate the allusion I made, which I 
now willingly retract.” -ism 

“ You are forgiven,” said Franklin, extending him his hand, 

“ Seriously, now, you do not contemplate marriage ? ” *\ ? a 

“Ido.” Krtk M ^rf’hrtu tefara Wfouft 

“And is her guardian favorable to your suit?” ■ ■ < Ym 

“ I know not. I have never spoken to him on the subject,” 

“And your father. Does he, too, give his sanction ? ” 

“ That is what troubles me. I am anxious to see him and personally 
represent the case. Until then I am forced to keep my love a secret. I 
would not for the world marry unless the union met with his approval,” 
“Ask for leave of absence.” JHkI ,fx>D ylif * 

“I will. And returning with his approval of my suit, will formally 
demand her hand from the rector, and publicly plight our troth,” cried 
Franklin, his face glowing with the earnestness and candor of his intentions. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE RECTOR COUNSELS HIS WARD. 

O marked had become the attentions of Lieutenant Franklin to .his 
ward, Lucy Blakeney, that the Rev. Mr. Mathews, interested as he 
was in the future happiness and welfare of the beautiful giri^ 
made inquiries regarding the reputation and social standing of? her 
suitor. Although gossip had made somewhat free with the foiinOTj 
he, in the quiet seclusion of his pastorate, heard naught of the yaguu 
rumors. In his selection of companion for Lucy he relied in a great 
measure upon his judgment of faces as criteriohs Of character. Ho wes 



* 


H 18 TO K V OF 1UC Y TEMPLE. 


pleased with the hearing and manners of Lieutenant Franklin, else he 
would not have allowed him to visit the rectory so often. 

What was his surprise and grief, then, when he made inquiry into the 
lieutenant's character, to learn that the morality he thought genuine was 
perhaps simulated. Particularly was his consternation great to learn of the 
number and success of his amours. 

“God iorgive me,” he cried, “ for having been so blind when the virtue 
of my dear child was at stake. I must see her immediately, and counsel 
her against receiving the advances of Franklin before it is too late.” 

. Accordingly he sought an early interview with Lucy, and calling her into 
the study that very evening, approached the subject thus : 

•Lucy, my dear child, I have received information to-day which grieves 
me beyond measure. As it concerns you and your welfare intimately, I 
think it my duty to acquaint you with what I have heard.” 

^Concerns my welfare, kind sir!” exclaimed Lucy; “ and in what 
manner, pray ? " 

• It is of Lieutenant Franklin and his frequent visits here that I would 
apeak." 

Lucy's face flushed scarlet and her head drooped. “ He is pleased with 
my suitor, ” she thought, “and Franklin has undoubtedly proposed for my 
hand;” “ i ” she said aloud, raising her blue eyes to her guardian's. 

• I learn for the first time, to-day, that this young soldier is not a suitable 
companion for you, ray dear child.” 

“Oh ! sir ! ” she cried, starting forward, while the color forsook her face 
and her lip trembled. 

“ My God, Lucy, yon do not love this man ? You cannot have been 
bewitched by him so soon ? No, no ! It is impossible, ” said the clergyman 
oonfidehtly, while his hand rested on Lucy's head. 

But she answered never a word. Trembling and cowering in the con- 
sciousness of her passion for Franklin, she dared not raise her eyes, and her 
breath came and went in short convulsive gasps. A thousand thoughts 
flashed through her mind, and she heard the rector's voice dim and in- 
distinct as in a dream. She felt weak and faint, and when she at last lifted 
her eyes the traces of her enlotioh had : been so indelibly imprinted on the 
young face, in sharp cruel lines, that the clergyman started back as though 
confronted by an apparition, Arid could odly find Voice 4ft ejaculate: 

enobnatta odt c t 

The cruel lines settled sharper and colder about her mouth, mid her voice 
wa$Lajrd ai ,d unnatural when she said : 



*Tfdlmeall J” • 


JLlT^HSi aid no qu 371 J, 


tubYoEy j# 

thoughts of this man, who has insinuated himself into your affections. Bee 
him no more, lest lie tempt you further, and may God in His infinite mercy 
so strengthen you that duty will be your guide.” 

There was no relaxation in the cold face, only it was a weary head that 
sank upon the old man’s bosom ; and if no tears moistened her eves, the 
pain and suffering she was undergoing was none the Jess terrible. 

u I cannot believe him so base ! ” she wailed, and the strained agony of 
her voice sank deeply into the clergyman’s heart 

“ Love is ever blind,” lie rejoined, pityingly. “ But listen ” And then, 
holding fast her hand, lie related all that he had heard of Franklin 1 * past 
life. 

“ But he may have reformed,” interposed Lucy, when he at last finished, 
H he may be better now. Oh 1 sir, if you but knew with what tenddr 
respect he treats me, it would indeed be difficult to believe these base 
stories.” 1 , - t 

“No, no! my child. His career has been marked by such whntom 
prostitution of the talent and beauty and address God gave him, that even 
if he did reform, it would be but temporarily. Some men are the inheritors 
of passions that no influence — be it pure as it may — can wholly eradicate, 
and Franklin, I fear, is one of these most unfortunate legatees.” * 

“What shall I do? What shall I do?” cried the unhappy girl, again 
burying her face in her guardian’s bosom. 

“Duty is plain,” replied the good man, tenderly, “and with the help dP'* 
God you can summon to your assistance the fortitude to perform IIP 
Unflinchingly.” 

“ I am but a poor, weak girl, and the future, which before looked m- 
bright, is no>v dark with dismal, dread forebodings,” she faltered. “Advise' 
me, kind sir) as you ever do.” 

“ Gladly will I, and pray for you, too,” was his reply. “ But come, your 
mind is too much distracted with a multitude of conflicting emotions 
allow you to be much benefited by advice. Sl6ep is a great refresher and 
a balm for our lacerated jiearts. Adieu, my dear child, until the morrow/ 
and may God watch over you through the night, add inspire you vith that 
blessed peace and resignation He promises to those who are aweary and ask 1 
for rest.” 

The good man kissed her pale cheek and then bade her good-nighk 


38 HISTORY OP LUOY TEMPLE, 

aril #noitotto mov ohii ITaemui fotevnierii ««rf odw t (\rm *i 


CHAPTER IX. 

the?*! bfoo otfi ui 


REFLECTION — A PARTING. 

R room gained, Lucy gave way to the emotion she could no longer 
repress, and busting into tears threw herself upon a couch, and for 
at least an hour lay very still, crying softly. There was in that 
time a mighty conflict of emotions struggling for utterance. It was 
the battle between love and duty. 

“Do I not love him sincerely ? " she cried, “and can I believe that his 
affection for me is other than pure? No, no 1 dear Franklin. I still think 
you true and honest. Say what they may, I shall ever hold you in the 
highest respect, and if it were not for bringing down sorrow upon the aged 
head of my dearest and best friend, I would dare all — contempt — scorn — 
pity of the world — and follow you through every danger. But much as I 
love you, I cannot disobey the one who has been alike father, counsellor 
and friend to me." 

Until the hour of midnight approached did she thus reflect over the course 
to he pursued toward Franklin, and the more she reflected, the stronger 
became her determination to sacrifice her own impulses and affections on the 
of duty. Gradually her emotion became quieter, and rising from the 
opuch she seated herself by the open window, and gazed out upon the jewel- 
gpangled face of heaven. Involuntarily a prayer rose to her lips, a petition 
for strength. The words half trembled in oral utterance, and then died 
ajvay in a faint murmur of surprise. 

She saw a figure moving among the garden shrubbery beneath her 
Wto4°W> ,^pd drew back into the shadow, satisfied that it was Franklin. 
The young soldier — for it was indeed he — came directly toward where she 
was standing, and halting opposite to the casement raised his eyes to the 

window. 

She stepped out of the shadow, and asked, “ What brings you here at 
this unseasonable hour ? " 

u Dear Lucy," he replied, “since the nightingale first began his matins I 
have patiently waited for your coming, and when at last the hooting owl told 
of midnight’s approach, I ventured to draw near your bower, satisfied even 
with a glance of the spot where innocent slumber lent new beauty to the 
countenance of my beloved girl. Why did you neglect the trysting-hour? 
Did you not consider my evident agitation when you came not? My mind 
was rent with a thousand horrible forebodings." 

Looking down upon his face, softened and mellowed in beauty with the 
moon’s glint, listening to the eloquent pleadings of his voice, could she well 
think him the base monster he had been pictured to her that evening? 



£omj& c^rjra on piiCA pet .rw|M|j£ hvtfl' — $>« Ini ic $i<tR(PH »>sJ?»<dt fitted niip t$tstu 







Young Franklin calls on Lucy alter her birth-day party.— $er jungt gtaiillin befu^t 2uci) nact i^rem ®eburt»tog8.ge(l«. 




History 'o^"ltjcV Yem^le. 




I^)V€, with beaming face and syren voice, lured her to his side ; while duty, 
cold, grim, yet just and merciful, whispered in her ear to stay. She 
struggled with the adverse ppwer$, and th$i, leaning her face upon her hand, 
burst into tears. 

“ Pardon me,” said Franklin, deeply moved, “ if the language conjured 
up by ardent affection has given you pain. I meant no harm. And if my 
presence has become tiresome to you, I will be gone and trouble you no 


more. 


^No, no ! ” cried Lucy, through her sobs. “ Do not think wrong of me,^ 
but we must meet no more. Perhaps at some future time we may, but rio^ 
now, not now.” 

Franklin stood for a few minutes musing silently. “I was about £oing 
away, Lucy,” he said, “to obtain the consent of my father that I might 
honestly and openly seek your hand.^f came this night to bid you aclieu for 
a brief period, and to renew i$y pledges of devotion. But, since it is ^jmr 
desire, the parting shall be forever, and I will, in the world of gaycty and 

pleasure, vainly endeavor to forget the pure girl I so well love.” 

&iiJo toil* A 


ll< ^Crjtilel fnan.° . Why do you thus J^orture me ? ” 1 ^ 08 

“ Since it is your wish, I see no alternative.” 

“Oh God, were I dead ! I can never forget you, Franklin, and when 
you are absent I shall be miserable. But my guardian loves me dearly, and 
has counselled me to discourage your, attentions. My duty to him is plain, 
and, much as I love you, I must beg. that this meeting be our last.” 

“Good-bye, then,” he said. “Since this is your will, I obey, bi 
you, I am not answerable for what may occur. If, in a fit of mad despair, 
my own hand is raided to take my life/ it will be fcir love of you.” 

“ Merciful heavens ! Do not add to rny misery,” cried Lucy, bitterly. 

“Farewell!” said Franklin. “We shall never see each other 
And then, fearful lest he should falter in his resolution, he hurried avtey, 


m * 


, but mind 



an agony of grief lin'd agitation sped t tHe’ night, a&cT the rhorrow’s stin fell 
upon a pillow wet with the tears of anguish. 

i j ■ i b i rr ( i r ■»/ r ri n r i r • q<v ! < 


b Unr 


yen nns 30 ‘iiK f ib *jn 
id t yln 9 bismqu 9m d 
is mid o) og t iis ! il 1 
S9d iooq yen dnirb I 
>d baaolo orla as aoyo 
v vk nb^oberslo ^audi 
s ,iised 9ilt 
lliw I 


irl 


j<mq 


'o oci 


42 


HISTORY OP LUCY TEMPLE. 


CHAPTER S 


A RECONCILIATION. 

^UCY arose from her restless bed, languid of eye and pale of cheek, 
and although she endeavored to conceal the traces of her emotion in 
the presence of her guardian, the effort was a vain one. The good 
clergyman quickly noticed her changed condition, and, moved to 
pity by her distress, said : 

“ Poor child ! You look tired and worn.” 

“And sick at heart,” she faltered. 

“ Do you really love this young man so ardently ? ” he said, bending over 

her. 

“Dear sir, I am trying to forget the past.” 

“ I have, perhaps, been too hasty in my condemnation of this young 
soldier. lie may have reformed. And if your refusal of his attentions 
should again lead him back to the life he relinquished for love of you, I 
^hould indeed feel sorry. A clergyman, who daily preaches charity and 
forgiveness to the repentant, should set the example by practising his own 
precepts.” 

“Oh, kindest and best of friends,” cried Lucy, sinking on her knees at 
his feet, “your words reanimate my sinking heart. If you but knew him, 
you would, I am sure, judge him less harshly. Even now he might have 
been hastening to ask the consent of his father to our union, if I had not 
coldly repulsed his attentions last night ! ” 

u “ Last night, my child ! ” said the rector, in some surprise. “ You 
forget. Lieutenant Franklin has not visited the rectory since the day 
before yesterday.” 

“ Nevertheless I saw him last night,” replied Lucy, with a blush of con- 
tusion. “ He was passing, and— and ventured to approach the house. He 
saw me sitting by the open window in my chamber, and when he approa<;}ijq<j[ 
I informed him of your desires and my intention regarding them. Do not 
blame me, sir, or think me unmaidenly, but I have frequently met him in 
the garden alone. Oh ! sir, go to him and retract your cruel decision, for 
if I see him no more I think my poor heart will burst with sorrow.” 

Tears stood in her eyes as she closed her appeal, and although he would 
have chided her for thus clandestinely meeting her lover, yet her deep 
anguish smote him to the heart, and he kissed her and said: 

“Cheer up, Lucy. I will make further inquiries regarding his 
character. I may have been wilfully misinformed. I will see him 
personally, and if, as you say, I find his intentions honorable, I will interpose 
no objection.” 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 43 

Lucy thanked him, and after breakfast he hastened to see Franklin, and 
if possible render liis dear child happy, and bring the roses once more to 
her cheek. 

Mr. Mathews found the lieutenant in his quarters, sitting very moody 
and dejected, and when the chilling reserve in which he at first enshrouded 
himself was di^ipated under the influence of the old rector’s kind words, he 
jumped joyfully to his feet and, grasping the aged man’s hand* exclaimed : 

“You are too kind, sir, and your words bring relief to my Repressed 
heart. I can truthfully say that I have never regarded that dear girl but 
as an honorable man should. In fact, I was on the point of asking my 
father’s sanction of our union, when I would return and get your consent 
to an early marriage with her who has become the arbiter and controller 
of my fate.” 

“If this be true, I will give my consent to your union. But not until 
my ward has reached her twenty-first birthday. Go, then, and consult the 
parent your intentions so much honor, and if he too consents, you are a 
welcome guest at the rectory.” 

“ But Lucy — can I not tell her this ? ” eagerly inquired the young man. 

“I will myself inform her of the decision I have rendered, and when 
you return it will be time enough for that.” 

Franklin would have pressed the clergyman to allow him to see her then, 
but the positiveness of the refusal dissuaded him, and he immediately set 
about preparing to leave for home. 

Love lent him increased speed, and a week did not elapse before he 
returned with the intelligence that his suit met with the cordial approval 
of his father. , r 

The two lovers were formally betrothed, and his command being ordered 
to another part of the country, Franklin was forced to tear himself away 
from the side of his sweetheart and, as best' he could, employ the time until 
two years should elapse, when he would return to claim the fair Lucy for 
his bride. 


hsf eid lo oiui 


CHAPTER XI. 


IIS o-iobrl 


HER TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY. 

%®rHE time of probation: wore away slowly to the minds of the irinpa- 
^ |!| tient lovers. Franklin found occasion several times to rvisit his 

2 Js* beloved one, and as the day of all days drew nigh, his anxiety in- 

£>5 creased to : such an extent that he was almost unfitted fofr duty. To 
1 ‘ his great consternation, a day or two before Lucy’s birthday, ho 
was summoned into the presence of his commander, and ordered off to a 
remote section 'Of* >the dominion oh a mission of importance. 1 L" ! < ? t oVf 11 


HIBTOftY W U iutfy TEMPLE. 


At length the long looked-for anniversary arrived, and Franklin, having 
despatched a messenger to inform his waiting ladylove that duty would keep 
him from her side a few days beyond the specified time, she received the 
congratulations of the old rector on the eventful morning. And when he 
had kissed her he presented her with a miniature. It was that of a lovely 
female not more than sixteen years old. On the reverse was a braided lock 
of brown hair, surmounted by the initials “ C. T.” in fine seed pearl. 

“ Who is this lovely creature? ” said Lucy. 

“ Come to the glass, my child, and tell me who it is like,” said Mr. 
Mathews. 

Lucy looked, and hesitated. 

“ Only,” at length she said, “ only that it is much handsomer, I should 
think—” 

“ That it was like yourself,” said the rector. “ It is the portrait of your 
mother, Lucy. It was taken, your grandmother informed me, about three 
years previous to your birth, and was constantly worn by your grand- 
mother till some deeply afflicting occurrence, to which I am a stranger, 
induced her to lay it aside.” 

In a few days her suitor arrived, and the proper arrangements for their 
uniqn were soon completed. ‘ , l ° * 

* iftever was bride so beautiful and joyous as Lucy, and on the eveuing 
previous io the day on which the marriage was to be celebrated, the lovers 
were together jn the drawing-room, enjoying that sweet communion bred 
of happiness about to be consummated, when a messenger arrived in hot 
haste and inquired for Lieutenant Franklin. 

The person bore a note ^ddrepsed to him, and, breaking the seal with 
trembling lmnds, the young officer r-- J " fl 


these Avords : 

■ IflfJOO 


10 : 


“Come home irhmediately. Your father lies ait the point of death. He 
desires to give you his blessing, and if you would see him alive, hasten. 
Delay is dangerous.” 


,9bi* 


N It bore the signature of his father’s trusted steward, and his heart, but a 
few moments before filled with, gladness, was by this sad intelligence de- 
pressed and chilled. 

Lucy saw the pallor which overspread his face as he finished reading the 
note, and with loving solicitude hastened to his side. 

“Dear Franklin,” she said, “some terrible intelligence conveyed in this 
message fills you with sadness.” 

“ Oh, Lucy ! ” he said, dropping into a chair and handing her the letter* 
*the best of fathers is at death’s door, and summons me to his side.” 

“ Hasten, then, that you may receive his benediction,” replied she. H I 
would accompany you, if my poor presence would be of any avail.” 

“No, no I The suddenness of the intelligence unnerved me at .first. m Ji 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE 


45 


mm stronger I am only grieved that his 

eyes could not look upon his daughter’s face or its counterfeit. But hold, 
you very closely resemble your mother, whose miniature you have shown 
me. With your permission I will take it to my father, that his dying eyes 
may gaze upon a face resembling — though possessing but a tithe of the 
loveliness— that of the pure woman who is about to become his son’s wife.” 

Lucy blushed a,t the mention of their approaching marriage, but brought 
-him the miniature, and placing it in a safe pocket, the young lieutenant 
ordered his horse and hastened to his father’s bedside. 


frraq nr ovr.4 tw f. • A 
d :n* L bna o*xr fivd .Iruov, mo- ‘to m* b; 

Tinay lo b9l«9(pi ovrrl nov ‘tr brm pge I !o 

CHAPTER XII. 


▲ DEATH-BED DISCOVERY. 




[ PON his arrival home, Lieutenant Franklin found his father very 
low, and so feeble that he could barely extend his hand to meet the 
warm pressure of his son’s. 

“ My dear father, I would that your life might he spared to bless 
my approaching marriage with the purest woman in the world/' 
maid Franklin, with tender regard. 

“ It is of her that I would speak,” said the colonel, faintly. “ What is 
mhe like ? ” 

“She is very beautiful,” was the enthusiastic reply. “ I think there was 
never but one woman who approached her in loveliness.” 

“And that one ? ” 

“Her mother.” v *r . noowa hsah a nr loofi: 

“ Did you ever see her ? I understood you to say she was dead.” 

“And I did, but I have seen her picture. I have it with me now ; it is 
also a good resemblance of Lucy.” j ' -■! — ’ ! . 

He drew forth the miniature and held jt before the father who rose up, 
seized it with a convulsive grasp, and looking upon the initials on its back, 
he shrieked out ; (>! 0 10v0ft fJ0 Y .?>•> iol noifarrBqoT 

“Just Heaven ! the woman you would marry is my own daughter! Oh, 
that I could have been spared this! Go, my son — go to my private desk. 
You will there find the record of your father’s shame, and of your own 
fete.” 

Lieutenant Fi^nklin heard the words which destroyed all hopes of future 
happiness, as one stunned by a sudden blow. He could only, after a 
painful silence, broken by the remorseful sobs of his wretched' fetber,,find 

word} %fo$ x ^fP 13 (^on < xi8nf vLtomm f>na t bioul emaood ®d f>no odd frrawoT 


4(5 HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


“Oh, my father! Why was I kept in ignorance of this terrible secret' 
of your life? My poor Lucy ! ” 

“Heap Upon me every insult that your outraged nature can suggest! 
Despise me, scorn me ! I deserve all ! ” cried the dying man. 

“ Nay, sir ; rather do you deserve my pity and commiseration.” 

“ It is the vengeance of a just Heaven. I could not hope to have lived 
60 long without well-merited punishment. My son, look upon your father 
and blush for very shame. Better had it been for me, ten thousand times, 
if it were I who fell than Belcour. I would have been spared these long 
weary years of melancholy reflection, and the canker of remorse would not 
have rendered my dying bed miserable.” 

“Say not so, sir,” said Franklin, deeply moved. “You have in part 
atoned for the indiscretion and sin of your youth by a temperate and just 
manner of living in your old age, and if you have repented of your 
wickedness, the more readily will pardon be granted you.” 

“ Would that I could believe this.” 

“Is it not promised by the Prince of Peace that, even at the eleventh 


hour, a man may repent and be saved ? ” 

“ True !” cried the father, his face brightening. “ If you love me, pray 
foe me.” . JX9 Muoo •»«« 


Although the usually gay young lieutenant had hitherto led a life the 
reverse of pious or moral (if we except the two years since he became 
acquainted with Lucy), he fell upon his knees, and with tears of sorrow 
stealing down his cheek, raised his eyes to Heaven to ask pardon for a 
parent: “Great Father of Mercy, who in thine omnipotence has promised 
forgiveness to all those who truly repent, grant that the sins of this unhappy 
man be overlooked and pardoned. Mhk'e easy h is ! sufferings and soothe 
with the balm of Thy righteousness hik afflicted heart.” Pie could go no 
farther. His sobs mingled with those of his father, and he sank upon the 
floor in a dead swoon. Restoratives were applied, and in a few moments 
he was able to again approach thW bedside. Colonel Franklin had lapsed 
into a semLunconscious state, and when he finally opened his eyes, raved 
and lamented in delirium. In fancy he was again in New York, enjoying 
the society of the Woman he had destroyed. “ I am a villain ! ” he cried, 
starting up in the bed. “Oh! Charlotte, forgive me. I will make 
reparation for the past. You shall never have cause to complain of my 
coldness again. tloVeyou. God knows I do. W& Will be married. You 
shall bear my name, and as my wife return to jgMfldeh the hearts of your 
fond parents.” Thus for a while did his mind wander, htid then he would 
burst into a fresh passion. “ Cursed strumpet ! ” he would cry, and wildly 
gnash his teeth; “hence! I throw you from me ; soiled and degraded, as 
I would a viper. You have betrayed 1 my affection, diid love me no longer. 
Away, away ! *kl \o adoe odt \d nevoid ^0dlii 

Toward the end he became lucid, and minutely instructed his son how 


I 








Franklin’s friend Con tense announces that the marriage cannot take place, and reveals the terrible secret 
ftraitfliir* ftreuni) aoutcufe erflfirt, i>ai? i>ie ^peiratb nidjt ftottfiubcn farm, unt entljiUlt tod farecflidje ©c^imnik 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


4ir 

to manage certain business affairs. He fondly embraced his wife and 
family, and asked their forgiveness for the shame his early indiscretion had 
brought upon them. After this he fell into a doze, and the afflicted family 
gathered about his bedside. He opened his eyes at last, and asked to look 
again upon the picture of the woman he had wronged. It was placed in 
his hands, and after regarding it steadfastly for several moments, while his 
lace lighted up with a sudden beam of joy, he pressed it to his lips, and 
with the words, “ Charlotte, forgive me,” fell back upon the bed, supported 
by his trembling wife, and in a few moments the wretched Franklin, the 
«ooe gay, gallant Montroville, was no more. 


CHAPTER Xin. 

/ 

montroville’s CONFESSION-. 

DAY was allowed to elapse after the burial of his father before 
Franklin ventured to open the private desk, in which the dying 
man had declared would be found the confession of his shame. 

In one corner of the desk was a bulky package, tied about 
strongly and sealed with the dead man’s family arms. It was 
addressed, “ To my son, Lieut. Edmund Franklin, 8th Dragoons,” and 
under this the following direction, “ To be opened after I am dead.” 

He removed the covering and disclosed a large envelope, a small ebony 
casket, and a roll of manuscript endorsed “Confession.” Opening the 
envelope the young man emptied its contents upon the table before him — a 
few old letters, musty and faded with age, in the delicate chirography of a 
lady ; a long tress of brown hair which would match the braid on the back 
of the miniature; a withered nosegay, even yet exhaling the delicate 
fragrance of mignonette and violet; a plain gold ring, engraved on the 
inside “ Charlotte from Montroville,” was all it contained. And gazing 
upon these dumb reminders of the past, Franklin could hardly suppress a 
tear of pity to the memory of their unhappy owner. The casket contained 
a duplicate of the picture he had at that minute in his pocket, and after 
regarding the beautiful features of his beloved Lucy's mother for some 
time, he brushed his tears away and turned to the manuscript confession. 
It read as follows : 

“Amidon House, Lanenham, 
“Suffolk. England. 

“To My Son : 

“ Will a son, who has been the pride and joy of his wretched father's 
life, listen in patience to the confession of that father's shame, and as he 
hopes for pardon himself, let the tear of charity fall upon his grave ? I 
4 



IH'STOKT OP IiUGY TEMPLE, 


3 $ 

can offer no excuse for my base conduct, and just Heaven has punished m© 
with the hourly goadings of a conscience that is not altogether lost to 
infamy. Be warned, then, by this my dying confession, and as you: hop© 
for peace here and hereafter, never allow youthful folly to so prostitute your 
nature that the innocent and pure may be made to suffer in the gratification 
of your unholy desires. 

'4 In the year 1773* X being at that time a lieutenant in His Majesty’s 
27th Artillery, was ordered with my regiment to America. Before my* 
departure, in company with a companion, Belcour, I had been to take leave 
of my friends, and was returning to Portsmouth, where the troops awaited 
orders for embarkation. We stopped at Chichester to dine, and after the 
meal sauntered out to view the town, and make remarks upon the inhabi- 
tants as they returned from church — it being Sunday afternoon. We had 
gratified our curiosity, and were about returning to the hotel, when the 
teachers and pupils of a fashionable school ? descended from the church. 
Myself and companion stopped to admire the beautiful faces as they passed 
by us, and an elegant girl, whose features I at once recollected as those of 
Charlotte Temple, >vhom I had once seen and danced with, looked at me 
and .blushed in recognition. I returned to the hotel, and was obliged to 
leave immediately for Portsmouth. J, was determined, however, if possible, 
t^^eC this lovely being again, and after spending.severa] days in endeavoring 
to. form some plan fpr seeing. her, I determined to, proceed again tq Chichester 
abd; trust to chance to see her. I accordingly set out, and arriving at the 
. edge of the town, dismounted and proceeded toward the school building,, 
which Stood in the centre of an extensive pleasure ground. It was sur- 
rounded by a high wall which defied all my efforts at entrance. . I was about 
turning away with the intention of returning to Portsmouth without seeing 
her^ when the gate which led to the pleasure ground opened and two females 
came oilt, and walked arm-in-arm across the fields. One of these I djs- 
(Covered to be Charlotte, and the other an unscrupulous teacher employed in 
the sehodl. A bribe silenced the latter, and slipping a note into Charlotte’s 
hand urging her to meet me again at the same place next evening, bade 
them good-bye, after inducing, the teacher to use her influence in aid of my 
plan. The young girl acceded to my wishes, influenced, however, in a great 
measure .by the intriguing teacher, and we met by appointment several 
times. One evening I prevailed upon the unfortunate girl to accompany 
me to America, upon arriving at which place I promised to make her my 
wife. So firmly did she believe in my ardent protestations that* when the 
day mriiived, although her Jbqtter mature drew her back to the parents who 
idolized .dier?, she accompanied me, as also did the teacher my companion, 
Be.Ic.our, to Portsmouth, and we embarked for America. Befqre.^e t ^n.t on 
chipboard she entreated me to get her pen and paper, that she might write 
to -her. parents,. . I was of course aware.of the evil consequences that must 
ensue if the letter was forwarded to them, and accordingly destroyed it. 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


51 

T> knur' soon tired of the teacher, La Rue, and she determined to attack the - 
heart of ah officer, who was one of the passengers, named Colonel Crayton, 
a; widower of large wealth. He readily succumbed to the designing schemes 
of this woman, and when we arrived in New York lawfully married her. 
I placed the girl who had confided in me her honor, in a suitable house, and 
easily put off the promised marriage with fresh promises. My companion, 
Belcour, learning that Charlotte was dejected and melancholy over my 
heartless conduct, sought to ingratiate himself in her favor, but so long as I 
remained in the least degree constant she repulsed his advances with the' 
virtue and spirit of a wife. During this time I accidentally became 
acquainted with your mother, who was independently an heiress, and at this 
time the life and boast of society. I was fascinated with her beauty, and 
for the time forgot poor Charlotte. But When I indulged in sober reflection 
over my conduct, inwardly reproached myself for neglecting her. 

“ My false friend, Belcdur, piqued at the repulse his advances to Charlotte’ 
had received, was thirsting for revenge, and took advantage of this mental 
agitation to 'remark that if I knew Charlotte as he did, I would have no 
compunction about deserting her. When I taxed him for an explanation!, ’ 
he craftily insinuated that she was not altogether true in her affection, and* 
falsely stated that he had received advances from her which his friendship 
for me would not allow him to take advantage 1 of. Enraged at this', ? I 
determined to again visit Charlotte' tax her* with falsehood and unfaithful- 
ness, and take an everlasting leave of her. IP Was afternoon when I paid 
the visit, and when, not finding her in the parlor, I’ehtered hOr bed-fdO'M; 
my suspicions of her infidelity were confirmed. The first object 'tlidt met 
my eyes on opening the door was Charlotte asleep, and Belcour on the bed 
beside her. Mad with passion, I aroused what I at that tinid considered a 
guilty pair, and spite her protestations of innocence, flung Charlotte from 
me, and hurriedly left the house'. My Suit with your mother progressed to 
that stage when the nuptial day w As fixed. Although I had abartdofied 
Charlotte (thinking she had' thrown herself from my protection by her evil 
conduct), 1 still felt myself bound to sUppof t her* and for that purpose 
placed a sum of money in Belcotir’s hands, telling him to disburse it Tor the 
comfort of herself and child. This he promised to do, but I afterwards 
learned that he never did. I suffered keenly from remorse as my marriage 
day approached, and at length wrote to Charlotte, advising her to return to 
virtue and her parents. After my marriage I made a trip to the West 
Indies, accompanied by your mother. When I returned to New York, I 
sought to find Charlotte, but in vain. I found Belcour immersed in dissipa- 
tion, but he could give me no information other than that she had some 
time since left the house in which I placed her. For the first time I 
suspected Belcour of falseness, and turned angrily upon him with the threat 
that, had he acted dishonorably toward her, his life should pay the forfeit. 
After much inquiry I found the servant girl who had attended Charlotte, 


52 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


and from her learned that after my departure she suffered all the miseries 
of sickness, poverty and a broken heart ; and that she had set out on foot, 
on a cold winter’s evening, for New York. Tortured almost to madness by 
this shocking account, I returned to the city. As I was entering the town, 
I heard from a neighboring steeple a solemn toll, and from a miserable hut 
near at hand appeared a funeral cortege. Almost unknowingly I followed, 
and inquired of a soldier who it was that was being buried. ‘And please 
your honor/ said the man, ‘ ’tis a poor girl who was brought from her 
friends by a cruel man, who destroyed and left her and then married 
another. I met her myself not a fortnight since, one night, all cold and wet 
in the street. She went to Madame Crayton’s, but she would not take her 
in. So the poor thing went raving mad, and died.’ Stricken with remorse 
at these words, I hastened to the churchyard, where they were now heaping 
the earth upon her remains. ‘ Hold ! hold ! one moment/ I cried. ‘ Close 
not the grave of the injured Charlotte Temple till I have taken vengeance 
on her murderer.’ ‘ Rash young man/ interposed a grief-stricken man, 
whom I had not noticed in my agitation, ‘ who are you that thus disturbs 
the mournful rites of the dead, and rudely breaks in upon the grief of an 
afflicted father ? ’ ‘ If you are the father of Charlotte Temple/ I cried* 

gating at him with mingled horror and amazement, ‘ if you are her father, 
I am Montroville ! ’ Then, falling on my knees, I bared my bosom, and 
continued, ‘ Here, strike — strike now, and save me from the misery of 
reflection ! ’ ‘Alas ! ’ said Mr. Temple, ‘ if you are the seducer of my child, 
your own reflections be your punishment. I wrest not the power from the 
hand of the Omnipotent.’ He turned from me, as if in loathing, as he 
finished speaking, and remembering the perfidy of Belcour, I flew to his 
lodgings with the speed of lightning. He was intoxicated, and I mad with 
anger and remorse. Our swords crossed in combat, and he fell pierced to 
the heart, whilst your unhappy father escaped with a slight wound. Over- 
oome with agitation and loss of blood I became insensible, and . in that state 
was carried home. A long siokuess followed, but to punish me more 
severely my life was spared, and after many years of suffering, agony and 
pain, I leave this, the dying declaration and confession of your most 
miserable parent, “ M. Fkanklin.” 


) 


HISTORY 0 F LUCY TEMPLE. 


aa 


CHAPTER XTV, 


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. 



IEUTENANT CONTENSE was seated in the mess-room when an 
orderly placed before him the morning mail. A bulky package 
caught his eye and he opened it first. A letter dropped out of the 
right hand corner of the envelope, emblazoned with the arms of 
his friend Franklin. Breaking the seal, he read : 


» “At Home. 

“My Dear Contense: 

“ My father died last Thursday, and on his death-bed revealed a terrible 
secret to me — that the dear girl I was about to marry was his own daughter 
and nay half-sister. Oh, conceive if you can my anguish of mind at this 
horrible revelation ! I was nearly wild with grief, and I am at this writing 
in a state of great despondency reflecting over the sadness of my dear Lucy, 
when she is made aware of the truth. I enclose a packet for her, which I 
wish you in person to deliver. Offer her the condolence and sympathy of a 
friend. As for myself, this stroke of fate has shattered the hopes of future 
happiness in which I once fondly indulged. I shall, as soon as I am 
sufficiently recovered from my present agitation, make application for a 
transfer into one of the Indian regiments. My mind is so distracted that 
the incoherency of this must be excused. Advise me as to the result, and 
believe me as remaining “ Sincerely yours, 

“ Franklin.” 


The letter dropped from the young officer’s hand, and he remained buried 
in thought for several minutes. “ Poor girl,” he said at length. “ She little 
dreams of the nature of the revelation which it becomes my most unpleasant 
duty to make known. If it were another than Franklin, I would refuse to 
become the bearer of such dread intelligence. As it is, I shrink from 
bringing distress and sadness upon her young life.” He arose and, ordering 
his horse, set out for the rectory, dimly visible in the distance, amidst a 
grateful shade of giant trees. 

“Alas ! Franklin enjoins me to offer consolation to the poor child,” said 
Contense, referring to his friend’s note. “ What language would the most 
fittingly impart these heart-rending tidings?” 

He visited the rectory quite frequently of late, and had been selected by 
Franklin as groomsman for the approaching marriage. When his command 
was ordered away, he had been enabled to get transferred into the regiment 
which succeeded them, and in the capacity of a mutual and confidential 
friend saw much of Lucy. 


54: HJ^TORY OF , LUOY TEMPLE, 

Arrived at the rectory, he met Mr. Mathews as he was about entering the 
grounds, and as briefly as possible made known the nature of his errand. 

“ My poor Lucy ! ” said the rector, his eyes filling with tears. “ How cau 
I tell her this ? ” 

“Be brave, sir,” counselled Contense, gravely. “Your weakness will 
lend fresh energy to hers. k Dry your eyes.” 

The young soldier led the trembling old man toward the house, and on 
the threshold met Lucy. She noticed the agitation of her guardian, and 
ran toward him. 

“Why these tears, my dearest friend?” she said. “What has 
happened ? ” 

“ Franklin ! ” faintly articulated the rector. 

“ Merciful Heavens, what means this ? He is not dead ? Oh ! dear sir, 
do not tell me that he is dead,” she cried, eagerly. 

“No, no! he is alive,” said Lieutenant Contense, “ but — ” and he could 
go no further. 

“ Oh, God ! Do not drive me mad with suspense. Tell me, is he 
maimed — sick — in trouble ? Do not keep me longer in ignorance,” said 
she. 

The lieutenant turned away his head that he might not see the piteous 
agony depicted in every lineament of the young girPs face, and continued : 

“ His father died last Thursday, and on his death-bed made known to 
Franklin that you were his daughter. He sends — ” 

“ Father of mercies ! ” she shrieked, “ this is too heavy a burden for mo 
to bear! Save me from — ” 

The words faltered on her tongue, and she fell fainting into the arms of 
Mr. Mathews. They bore her to her chamber, and when she recovered 
consciousness she asked that all be made known to her. 

After she had read the confession of her miserable father, and wept over 
the letters of her unfortunate mother, she fell upon her knees and asked for 
strength to bear up under the terrible affliction. The Dispenser of all 
Mercies heard the petition, and with the serene composure of a true 
Christian woman she submitted with humble resignation to His will. 


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3 . L>: . J ■ ■ ><•: r j . . »,!»• - -I *tiJ f f ii?>VJ;nl luli-mM 

.ivteit iiw.» 'luoy u.J b'/muni 

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Merciful heaven, >tis the miniature of Lucy’s mother, and you are engaged to he 
married to your own sister. 

9m4tcr $imrael e# ift bat SRiniatnrbilb Don Gutter, unb ©u ftdjfi im ®e#riff, ©id? 
nit ©ciner ^luejter $u oerl>eirat(>eu. 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


CHAPTER XV. 


LADY BOUNTIFUL. 


« ONTENSE wrote to his friend, minutely describing the scene at the 
rectory, and after a few days received a reply, in which, after 
thanking him for the kind office, Franklin says: “ Thanks to my 



clean record and the influence of my friends, I have been enabled 


to get the courted transfer. I leave for India in about a week, as 
a lieutenant in His Majesty’s 42d Foot. In the exciting scenes likely to 


be encountered I hope to shake off the melancholy which now oppresses me. 


Acting under the instructions laid down in my father’s will, I have devised 
all my property to Lucy in case of death. My mother and brothers and 
sisters are well provided for. No tie binds me now to earth, and the bullet 
which stretches me a corse will be gladly welcomed. I shall write you 
again before I sail, and frequently from India.” 

Alas ! poor Franklin ! His desire for the speedy approach of the death 
bullet was not long ungratified. He did gallant duty with his command 
in India, but, lacking ambition, refused all offers of promotion. The 
battles of the Allied Powers brought his regiment into active service in 
Spain, and he fell, bravely fighting, in one of the battles of the Peninsula. 

Lucy remained in seclusion for nearly a year, and then, after following to 
the grave the good old rector, interested herself in works of charity, and 
became the Lady Bountiful of her rural neighborhood. In active duties 
of benevolence she found consolation for the past. Her ample fortune, 
added to the magnificent legacy paid over to her by the executors of 
Franklin’s will, enabled her to dispense succor and relief to many of the 
deserving poor. She sat by the bedside of the sick, buried the dead, clothed, 
fed and educated the orphan, relieved the necessities of the needy, and 
protected the helpless. 

And every year she shut herself up for several days in the rectory, which 
was yet her home. And when it became known that this retirement always 
occurred upon the anniversary of her intended marriage with Franklin, the 
simple country folk knew that she occupied her time in prayer and fast, as 
penance for the sins of her wretched parents. 

Long continued exercise of benevolence so spiritualized her face that, 
although all men admired and paid just and respectful tribute to her beauty 
and goodness, no one, after becoming acquainted with her sad history, could 
find spirit to approach her with an offer of marriage. So her life passed 
peacefully on, and she was revered and respected by all. 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE, 


% 


CHAPTER XV3. 


A mother’s grave. 


fTIE trite remark that “ truth is strange, stranger than fiction,” has 
probably never found a more striking verification than in these 
characters and incidents of the olden days of New York, as 
detailed in the history of the beautiful, erring Charlotte Temple, 
and the pure, unselfish, yet sorrowful life of her daughter, Lucy 
Blakeney. The bustling, bartering, matter-of-fact, penny-wise — and might 
we not say pound-foolish ? — generation of to-day looks back through the 
mist of years upon these sad histories, and generally regards them as mere 
romances. Fortunately there is left to us one silent, mournful witness of 
their truth. Enter the main gateway of Trinity churchyard, and turn your 
steps, O reckless, bounding blood of youth ! and you, O petrifying heart 
of age ! direct your steps some three rods north of the brown buttresses of 
the tower. There, within twenty feet of the Broadway pave, in sight of the 
ever-hurrying throngs that crowd, jcstlp and scramble past, in the bustling 
business of life, lies a long, flat, moss-stained slab. Upon it is inscribed 
only these words : 

“ Charlotte Temple.” 


There sleeps the poor wanderer of the Old Tree House — the rosebud, 
wasted by the spoiler before it had reached its June. 

It cannot fail to strike the eye of an observer that at the top of the stone 
an oblong space of more than a square foot in area, and an inch or two iu 
depth, has been chiselled out of the slab, leaving a strange blank hollow, 
apparently once filled with some memorial now lacking. 

In the year 1800 Lucy Blakeney had arrived at the age of twenty-six 
years, and her historian thus happily describes her : “ Her beauty, unim- 
paired by her early sorrows, and preserved by the healthful discharge of 
the duties of benevolence, had now become matured into the fairest model 
of lovely womanhood.” 

At this time, then, the daughter, with filial piety, determined to cross the 
Atlantic and visit the grave of her mother. In those days the story of 
Charlotte Temple was still fresh in the memory of citizens, and her grave 
was the pilgrimage of many a sympathizing heart. Tommy Collister, who 
had been for many years the sexton of Trinity, had therefore no difficulty 
in pointing it out to the grave and stately lady in black who one day called 
on him for his services. 

The stranger was closely veiled, and when the grave was reached mo- 
tioned to the old sexton that she wished to be alone. He withdrew, and 


o u y of.lucj te ple.. 

anhopr elapsed before she lpft the phurphyard. As she . stood in the 
yestibuie of the OJd Trinity, waiting .while Col lister unloekgd tfye door to 
give her egress, a violent gust of wind tore the vpil, from her %P0 for a 
minute, and the amazed sexton saw that the white, pure face was wpt with 
t^ears of anguish. The strange lady called agaip next day, and for several 
succeeding days. A simple unjnscribed headstone then marked the grave. 
After several visits, the “ lady in black ” — ras Collister was wont to call her 
— caused a long freestone slab to be erected on pillars, as was then the, 
fashion. Near the top a solid and heavy tablet of brass, plated with silver, 
was securely set into the slab. It was probably three inches in thickness, 
and was thus inscribed : 

“ Sacred 

TO THE 

MEMORY 

OF 

CHARLOTTE STANLEY. 

Aged 19 years.” 

Above these words were the quarterings of the noble house of Derby. 

It cannot, possibly injure any one now to say that the above was the real 
name of her who rested beneath, and that her father was a younger son of 
the Earl of Derby, one of England^ proudest peers. 

When this pious duty had been completed, Lucy Blakeney paid the tribute 
of a farewell tear to her mother’s memory, and sailed for England, where 
she lived an honor and a blessing to her sex, until the history of her family 
was closed with the life of its last representative. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

> ( r>70H o’c h\J*jwT .rnoifl diiw ni bncd n ovjuI oJ 6>lii LI 

THE MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS. 

FTER the departure of Lucy Blakeney, the number of pilgrims to 
Charlotte’s grave was much increased, but hardly in quality. Before 
that time it was the tribute of true hearts to humble misfortune. 
Now much of it was the tribute of weak heads to the impress of 
English nobility. 

However, there was one of the gentle sex at that time, who at least had 
not to reproach herself for a weak head, nor yet for a tender heart. She 
never had visited the place, she said, and she never would. Let us name 
her Mrs. Blank, and her husband likewise Blank. Profoundly wealthy,- 




60 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


severely respectable, savagely moral, and inexorably pious — such was the 
material aud spiritual status of the Blank family. Mrs. B. complained that 
she really felt it unsafe to permit her daughters to pass the churchyard, and 
she only wondered that Trinity Church would permit that tombstone to 
remain there. Mr. B. agreed entirely with his partner. A somewhat 
varied experience inclines this historian to the impression that there is a 
vast deal of human nature in all kinds of men and women, and that there 
are as many Dead Rabbits in the highways as in the byways of society. 

There may be no possible connection between the foregoing remarks and 
those which follow ; but, at all events, not many weeks after Lucy’s de- 
parture, on a very dull night, two men were stealthily and quietly at work 
with drills and chisels, cutting away the lead which soldered the brass plate 
to the tombstone. 

“ This is slow work and hard work, Bill,” whispered one. 

“That it is, Jack. But if it’s all solid silver, why then, you see, our 
fortune is made.” 

“ Provided we 'get the thing all safe and sure. It’s heavy, if I’m any 
judge.” 

“ So much the better. We can lug it along in the bag easy enough, never 
fear. Hush ! — what’s that ? ” 

They paused a moment to listen. 

“ Nothing ! ” said Bill. “ Now she’ll come. Put in your chisel there. 
Now — raise her up ! ” 

There was a street lamp in front of the church, and as they raised up 
the loosened plate on its side, the light fell on its polished silver surface, 
and flashed, from the gloom of the churchyard, full into the eyes of two 
watchmen, who had just come up Wall street and stopped on the opposite 
corner of Broadway. 

“ Did you see that ? ” said one of them to his partner. “ What was it ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the other ; “ I saw something that made my eyes blink. 
Guess it’s some of them old Revolutionary ghosts goin’ through the load 
and fire, by way of old times.” 

“ Well, I’d like to have a hand in with them. Let’s go across and 
reconnoitre.” 

Accordingly the watchmen started across the street, and in the hurried 
effort to get the heavy plate in the bag and to hasten off, Bill let it fall into 
the tall rank grass. There was no time to be lost, and the two violators of 
the grave dodged behind a tombstone close by. The watchmen came close 
up to the wooden paling which then bounded the churchyard, and stopped 
to listen and to watch. 

They had heard the dull sound of the falling plate, and waited for further 
developments. 

Presently Bill thought of an expedient to get rid of them. He quietly 
threw a heavy iron chisel up into the air so that it flew out into Broadway 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMFLE. 


61 


and came down ringing into the centre of the street. Convinced that the 
enemy was in their rear, the watchmen turned quickly and rushed into 
Broadway. Bill immediately picked up the plate, shoved it into a large 
bag, and he and his accomplice hastened to escape by way of the rear of the 
churchyard. 

It is a fact, however, that the plate was not stolen, for it was found the 
next day in the grass where it had fallen. Bill had, in his haste and in the 
darkness, picked up a small marble slab, which covered an infant's grave 
close by. 

The watchmen corroborated the suspicion that thieves had attempted the 
robbery of the plate, and it was thought advisable not to replace it on the 
stone. Some thoughtful, pious hand, however, subsequently removed the 
tottering pillars and graved the name of Charlotte Temple on the slab, as 
it may now be seen. 

It is uncertain what became of the plate. Probably it lies away forgotten 
in some antique chest, along with the old deeds and maps of the King's 
Farm, over which it is said the spirit of Anneke Jans Bogardus still keeps 
watch ; and probably there it will remain until her innumerable descendants, 
some centuries hence, succeed in establishing their long-contested claims. 


POOR CHARLOTTE TEMPLE. 

A Chat with the Head Gardener in Trinity Churchyard. 

The Pilgrims at the Grave of Charlotte — Who was she?— Mr. Boileau’s Promise — The 
Woman who wrote a Story as Famous' as Goethe’s “ Werther M — Who Susanna Rowson was. 


| HY don't you put some flowers around Charlotte Temple's grave ? " 
I asked the sexton of Trinity Church one day last week, when I 
was down there. 

u I have nothing to do with it," was the reply ; " that is none of 
my business. You must ask Mr. Boileau, the gardener, about that." 

The next day I was again in Trinity Churchyard. There was a throng 
around Charlotte Temple's grave. They were all men this time. I have 
generally noticed, however, that more women than men linger , around 
the spot. One of the gentlemen, a New Yorker, who was over sixty 
years of age, said he had read the story of Charlotte Temple, and wept over 
it when he was a boy. 

" It was fresh then," he remarked, “ and no one at that time doubted the 
main facts of the story. It was well known that such a young girl as 
Charlotte Temple had been buried in this churohyard, and that she was 
truly the inuocent victim of a young British officer." 


62 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE; 


“ I have heard that she was not an English girl/' I said. “ I heard ft 
gentleman say that she was an American girl who was misled and deserted 
by a British officer at the time of the revolutionary war.” 

“ I don’t believe it, for when the story of Charlotte Temple first came 
out, and I assure you it was read by young and old, no one doubted or con- 
tradicted the assertion which was made then that the main facts of the story 
were trhe. It was said that the names of the actors in the drama were 
changed, but that the incidents were bona fide facts.” 

I found the right man. I wandered off in search of the gardener. A 
man was working at the roots of a young tree near the great monument 
erected to the bravd men who perished in the old sugar house in Liberty 
street in 1777. He was forking up the earth and enriching it with compost. 
The base of the great monument is embedded in an exquisite embroidery 
of flowers and plants with vari-colored leaves. Around poor Charlotte’s 
grave, a few rods Off, there is nothing but a curved, hard, gravel walk. A 
sickly willow (nothing can thrivfein that hard, foot-worn soil) is the only 
plant near her 'grave. I addressed the man at work with the gardening fork : 

“ Gardener, why don’t you put* some flowers around Charlotte Temple’s 

grave?” liyili m i •••••*••.'*« , uuo* 

He answered impatiently, with a strong French accent : 

“ What would be the use? The people in this country are ntft like the 
people in Europe. They would take everything away that I should put 
there.” And he dug more vigorously 
look at me ; but J persevered. 


ugorously away with his fork, and would not 


“I think you are mistaken, gardener. Jf you gere to make a pretty bed 
of violets and forget-me-nots around her grave, no one would touch them, 
now. The story is almost forgotten.” ' ■' 

“ Don’t you belieVe it,” he itnswered quickly, stopping at once with his 
work. “ Look yonder. See how many are standing there now, and look 
on the sidewalk, how many rife 'looking through thb’Iron railing. Do you 
see them looking through anywhere else ? I tell you more people go to 
that grave than to any other in the churchyard. It has been so ever since 
I’ve been here, arid I have been the head gardener for all the churchyards 
in Trinity parish for seven years.” 

Then I knew it was Mr. Boileau with whom I was talking. He raided 
himself up straight, and leaned on the handle of his gardening fork. 

“All that is done by a romance — a story,” he went on. “ There is not 
one word of truth in it either: That is riot Charlotte Temple’s grave. There 
never was any such wotaari as Charlotte Temple. There was a si 1 vet* plate 
on that stone, in the spot where you see it hollowed out. TKeiffi 'wa^’afinmiye^ 
name on the plate. It Was not Temple. The man who was in charge here 
before I became gardener* told me the name, but I have forgotten it. Ohe 
night somb thieves stale the plate. That was about the time the romance 
was written. Then the matt who had 'charge of the churchyard put the 
name Charlotte Temple on the stone, just because he had read the story.” 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


63 


4t I don’t believe that,” I retorted. “ I believe it is Charlotte Temple’s 
grave or Charlotte Stanley’s.” 

Mr. Boileau laughed long and loudly. 

“You think you know more about it than the New York Historical 
Society?” he inquired. “You go up there and ask for the principal man. 
He is a very learned man, and knows Latin and everything, and he says it 
is all a romance. He must know, for he is a Latin scholar,” and with a 
half-satirical sidelong glance, lie began to water the plants. 

“A man may know Latin,” I persisted, “and yet be mistaken when he 
comes to look up the facts abotit old English tombstohes in America. The 
old sexton of St. Paul’s tells me that he is sure that this is Charlotte Temple’s 
grave. His wife, when a little girl, more than sixty years ago, knew Mrs. 
Freeborn, the old lady who lived in the Cherrytree street house, and who 
gave shelter to Charlotte when she was turned away from Mrs. Crayton’s 
door, and in Mrs. Freeborn’s house Charlotte died. Mrs. Freeborn used to 
tell the story to the little girls who came in to 'see her.” 

“ Yes, yes ; but those are only old women’s stories, you see. What is that 
to a man that understands Latin ? Go up to the Historical Society, and see 
Mr. — ah — What’s-his-name ? — I’ve forgotten it, but he knows Latin, and 
all about the graves here, too.” 

“ I believe that is Charlotte Temple’s grave,” I replied ; “ and at any 
rate it would not hurt to put some flowers around it.” 

“ If you will find out whose grave that is, and make sure of it’s being 
Charlotte Temple’s or Charlotte Stanley’s, I will put a bed of beautiful 
flowers all around it and put her name in flowers, in forget-me-nots and 
pansies in the bed. Now see what you can do.” 

He walked off, smiling to himself, and began to water some of the plants 
he had just been setting out. But, circling around, I came back and crossed 
liis path, and as he worked I began again : 

“ Does anybody ever put any flowers on Charlotte Temple’s grave?” 

“ When I first came here, seven years ago, there used to be an old lady, 
an English lady I think she was, from her voice and her person. She was 
an elegant, a handsome old lady, and she was very old. She used to come 
every day or two whenever the weather was fine. She was well dressed — 
in black always. She would stand a long time by the grave just so,” and 
Mr. Boileau rested his chin on his right hand and supported the elbow of 
his right arm with his left hand, in an attitude of deeply absorbed thought. 
“ Then she would put a bouquet of flowers on the grave and go away. Some 
of the people about here had said ‘she was Charlotte Temple’s daughter or 
her grand-daughter, but I don’t believe that,” and Mr. Boileau went on 
watering the plants. 

To the New York Historical Society rooms in Second avenue I went to 
find the man who knew Latin and everything else. I think I found hifa. 
He had a very learned look out of his fishy eyes, glancing asqiiirit at ilie 
from under the half-closed, flabby lids. 


64 


HISTORY OF LUCY TEMPLE. 


“It's no use trying to find out. We have nothing here on the subject. 
If you go to the Commercial or Astor Library, you can get all that can l>e 
found on the subject of old New York. If you want gossip, Scoville’s or 
Barrett’s ‘Old Merchants of New York ’ will furnish you that sort of stuff," 
he said. 

To the libraries I went, but not to search according to the Latin scholar’s 
directions. I sought for the genealogy of the earls of Derby, the house of 
Stanley, and for biographies of Susanna Rowson, the author of “ Charlotte 
Temple.” The eleventh Earl of Derby was Edward Stanley, born in 1689 
and died in 1714. He had two sons. Lord Strange, whose eldest son 
Edward succeeded his grandfather. His second son, Thomas, a major in 
the British army, who was born in 1753. If this was the father of Char- 
lotte Temple, his marriage must have been considered a mesaUiance y and Mr. 
Rudolph Irmtraut of the College of Heraldry says that mesalliances, ac- 
companied by disinheritance, always cuts off a family from mention in a 
work of heraldry. He seemed to know a great deal more about such things 
than the Latin scholar. He said : 

“ Mrs. Rowson must have had a foundation of facts for her story. It is 
for us to discover how much — and one thing we cannot get around is the 
old stone in Trinity churchyard with the inscription Charlotte Temple on it. 
Sextons are not in the habit of indulging in jokes. Now, why did the 
sexton put the name of Charlotte Temple on that stone when the metal plate 
with the right inscription was lost? Was it not because there was a popular 
belief that that was Charlotte Temple’s grave? It is worth looking into. 
What became of the plate and the old Trinity Church books?” 

I told him I had heard that they had been burned when the first church 
was burned in 1776. But he insisted that there must somewhere be some 
record of the old graves. The weight of evidence, he thinks, is that that 
is Charlotte Temple’s grave, and that she was of some noble family, for, 
turning to the biographical notices of Susanna Rowson, we found that her 
name was connected with the earliest literature of this country. She was 
very successful as an actress, and made her final appearance at the Federal 
Theatre in Boston. Then she began to teach, and afterward to write, pur- 
suing her career as a teacher and an authoress in Boston, Medford, and other 
towns of Massachusetts for twenty-five years. She died in 1824, after a 
life of gentle and kindly usefulness. 

From Alibone’s Dictionary of Authors we learn that “ Charlotte 
Temple ” appeared in 1790, and 25,000 copies were sold in a few years, and 
it is still published. With the exception of the names of the characters, we 
are assured that this whole story is “ literally true.” This is strong language 
for Alibone, who is generally considered authority on such subjects. The 
last London edition of “ Charlotte Temple” was printed in 1849. The last 
American one that we know of is that of Barclay & Co., 21 North Seventh 
Street, Philadelphia, who will mail it to any address on receipt of 25 cents. 











